Hunters of the Dusk (10 page)

“How can you eat that?” I asked, revolted, as he gnawed at a raw turnip.

“All in the conditioning.” He winked, biting deeply into it. “Yum — a worm!”

Mr. Crepsley joined us as we were finishing. He was in a serious mood for the rest of the night, saying little, staring off into space.

The cave was far more luxurious than the caverns of Vampire Mountain. Evanna had made a real home of it, with soft feather beds, wonderful paintings on the walls, and huge candle-lit lamps that cast a rosy glow over everything. There were couches to lie on, fans to cool us, exotic fruit and wine. After so many years of rough living, it seemed like a palace.

As we relaxed and digested the meal, Vancha cleared his throat and began to explain our reason for being here. “Evanna, we’ve come to discuss —”

She silenced him with a quick wave of a hand. “We’ll have none of that tonight,” she insisted. “Official business can wait until tomorrow. This is a time for friendship and rest.”

“Very well, lady. This is your domain and I bow to your wishes.” Lying back, Vancha burped loudly, then looked for somewhere to spit. Evanna tossed a small silver pot at him. “Ah!” he said, beaming. “A spittoon.” He leaned over and spat forcefully into it. There was a slight
ping
and Vancha grunted happily.

“I was cleaning up for days the last time he visited,” Evanna remarked to Harkat and me. “Pools of spit everywhere. Hopefully the spittoon will keep him in order. Now if only there was something for him to flick his nose-pickings into . . .”

“Are you complaining about me?” Vancha asked. “Of course not, sire,” she replied sarcastically. “What woman could object to a man invading her home and covering the floor with mucus?”

“I don’t think of you as a woman, Evanna.” He laughed.

“Oh?” There was ice in her tone. “What
do
you think of me as?”

“A witch,” he said innocently, then leapt from the couch and raced out of the cave before she cast a spell on him.

Later, when Evanna had regained her sense of humor, Vancha snuck back to his couch, fluffed up a cushion, stretched out, and chewed at a wart on his left palm.

“I thought you only slept on the floor,” I remarked. “Ordinarily,” he agreed, “but it’d be impolite to refuse another’s hospitality, especially when your host is the Lady of the Wilds.”

I sat up curiously. “Why do you call her a lady? Is she a princess?”

Vancha’s laughter echoed through the cave. “Do you hear that, lady? The boy thinks you’re a princess!”

“What’s so strange about that?” she asked, stroking her mustache. “Don’t all princesses look like this?”

“Beneath Paradise, perhaps,” Vancha said, chuckling. Vampires believe that the souls of good vampires go beyond the stars to Paradise when they die. There isn’t such a thing as hell in vampire mythology — most believe the souls of bad vampires stay trapped on Earth — but occasionally one would refer to a “beneath Paradise.”

“No,” Vancha said seriously. “Evanna’s far more important and regal than any mere princess.”

“Why, Vancha,” she cooed, “that was almost flattering.”

“I can flatter when I want,” he said, then broke wind loudly. “And flutter too!”

“Disgusting.” Evanna sneered, but she had a hard time hiding a smile.

“Darren was asking about you on the way here,” Vancha said to Evanna. “We told him nothing of your past. Would you care to fill him in?”

Evanna shook her head. “You tell it, Vancha. I’m not in the mood for storytelling. But keep it short,” she added, as he opened his mouth to begin.

“I will,” he promised.

“And don’t be rude.”

“Lady Evanna!” he gasped. “Am I ever?” Grinning, he ran a hand through his green hair, thought a while, then began in a soft voice that I hadn’t heard him use before. “Heed, children,” he said, then cocked an eyebrow and said in his own voice, “That’s the way to begin a story. Humans start with ‘Once upon a time,’ but what do humans know about —”

“Vancha,” Evanna interrupted. “I said keep it short.”

Vancha grimaced, then started over, again in his soft voice. “Heed, children — we creatures of the night were not made to beget heirs. Our women can’t give birth and our men can’t sire children. This is the way it’s been since the first vampire walked by the light of the moon, and the way we thought it would always be.

“But seventeen hundred years ago, there lived a vampire by the name of Corza Jarn. He was ordinary in all respects, making his way in the world, until he fell in love and mated with a vampiress called Sarfa Grall. They were happy, hunting and fighting side by side, and when the first term of their mating agreement elapsed, they agreed to mate again.”

That’s how vampire ‘marriages’ work. Vampires don’t agree to stay with one another for life, only for ten, fifteen, or twenty years. Once that time is up, they can agree to another decade or two together, or go their separate ways.

“Midway through their second term,” Vancha continued, “Corza grew restless. He wished to have a baby with Sarfa and raise a child of his own. He refused to accept their natural limitations and went looking for the cure to vampire sterility. For decades he searched in vain, the loyal Sarfa by his side. A hundred years came and went. Two hundred. Sarfa died during the quest but this didn’t put Corza off — if anything, it made him search even harder for a solution. Finally, fourteen hundred years ago, his search led him to that meddler with the watch — Desmond Tiny.

“Now,” Vancha said gruffly, “it’s not known exactly how much power Mr. Tiny wields over vampires. Some say he created us, others that he once was one of us, others still that he’s simply an interested observer. Corza Jarn knew no more about Tiny’s true self than the rest, but he believed the magician could help, and followed him around the world, begging him to put an end to the barren curse of the vampire clan.

“For two centuries Mr. Tiny laughed at Corza Jarn and waved his pleas away. He told the vampire — now old and feeble, close to death — to stop worrying. He said children weren’t meant for vampires. Corza wouldn’t accept this. He pestered Tiny and begged him to give the vampires hope. He offered his soul in exchange for a solution, but Mr. Tiny sneered and said if he wanted Corza’s soul, he would simply take it.”

“I haven’t heard that part of the story before,” Evanna cut in.

Vancha shrugged. “Legends are flexible. I think it’s good to remind people of Tiny’s cruel nature, so I do, every chance I get.

“Eventually,” he returned to the story, “for reasons of his own, Tiny relented. He said he’d create a woman capable of bearing a vampire’s child, but added a catch — the woman and her children would either make the clan more powerful than ever . . . or destroy us completely!

“Corza was troubled by Tiny’s words, but he’d sought too long and hard to be dissuaded by the threat. He agreed to Tiny’s terms, and let him take some of his blood. Tiny mixed Corza’s blood with that of a pregnant wolf and worked strange charms on her. The wolf gave birth to four cubs. Two were stillborn and normal in shape, but the others were alive — and human in appearance! One was a boy, the other a
girl.
”

Vancha paused and looked at Evanna. Harkat and me looked too, our eyes wide. The witch grimaced, then stood and took a bow. “Yes,” she said, “
I
was that hairy little she-cub.”

“The children grew quickly,” Vancha went on. “Within a year they were adults and left their mother and Corza, to seek out their destiny in the wilds. The boy went first, without saying anything, and nobody knows what became of him.

“Before the girl left, she gave Corza a message to take to the clan. He was to tell them what had happened, and say that she took her duties very seriously. He was also to tell them that she was not ready for motherhood, and that no vampire should seek her out as a mate. She said there was much she had to consider, and it would be centuries — perhaps longer — before she made her choice.

“That was the last any vampire saw of her for four hundred years.”

He stopped, looked thoughtful for a moment, then picked up a banana and began to eat it, skin and all. “The end,” he mumbled.

“The
end?
” I shouted. “It can’t end there! What happened next? What did she do for those four centuries? Did she choose a mate when she came back?”

“She chose no mate,” Vancha said. “Still hasn’t. As for what she got up to . . .” He smiled. “Maybe you should ask her yourselves.”

Harkat and me turned to Evanna.
“Well?”
we asked together.

Evanna pursed her lips. “I chose a name,” she said.

I laughed. “You can’t have spent four hundred years picking a name!”

“That wasn’t all I got up to,” she agreed, “but I devoted much of that time to the choice. Names are vital to beings of destiny. I have a role to play in the future, not just of the vampire clan, but of every creature in the world. The name I chose would have a bearing on that role. I settled in the end for Evanna.” She paused. “I
think
it was a good choice.”

Rising, Evanna croaked something at the frogs, who set off for the mouth of the cave. “I must go,” she said. “We have spoken enough of the past. I will be absent most of the day. When I return, we shall discuss your quest and the part I am to take in it.” She departed after the frogs, and moments later had disappeared into the ripening rays of the dawn.

Harkat and me stared after her. Then Harkat asked Vancha if the legend he’d told was true. “As true as any legend can be,” Vancha replied cheerfully.

“What does that mean?” Harkat asked. “Legends change in the telling,” Vancha said. “Seventeen hundred years is a long time, even by vampire standards. Did Corza Jarn really drag around the world after Desmond Tiny? Did that agent of chaos agree to help? Could Evanna and the boy have been born of a she-wolf?” He scratched an armpit, sniffed his fingers and sighed. “Only three people in the world know the truth — Desmond Tiny, the boy — if he still lives — and Lady Evanna.”

“Have you ever asked Evanna if it’s true?” Harkat inquired.

Vancha shook his head. “I’ve always preferred a stirring good legend to boring old facts.” With that, the Prince rolled over and fell asleep, leaving Harkat and me to discuss the story quietly and wonder.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I
GOT UP WITH
V
ANCHA
a couple of hours after midday and began my training in the shade near the cave entrance. Harkat watched us with interest, as did Mr. Crepsley when he woke early that afternoon. Vancha started me off with a stick, saying it would be months before he tried me with real weapons. I spent the afternoon watching him flick and stab the stick at me. I didn’t have to do anything else, just observe the movements of the stick and learn to identify and anticipate the various ways an attacker uses it.

We practiced until Evanna returned, half an hour before sunset. She said nothing of where she’d been or what she’d been up to, and nobody asked.

“Having fun?” she asked, entering the cave with her escort of frogs.

“Lots,” Vancha replied, throwing the stick away. “The boy wants to learn to fight with his hands.”

“Are swords too heavy for him?”

Vancha pulled a face. “Very funny.”

Evanna’s laughter brightened the cave. “I’m sorry. But fighting with hands — or swords — seems so childish. People should battle with their brains.”

I frowned. “How?”

Evanna glanced at me, and all of a sudden the strength went from my legs and I fell to the floor. “What’s happening?” I squealed, flopping about like a dying fish. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Evanna said, and to my relief my legs returned to normal. “
That’s
how you fight with your brain,” she said as I gathered myself together. “Every part of the body connects to the brain. Nothing functions without it. Attack with your brain, and victory is all but assured.”

“Could I learn to do that?” I asked eagerly.

“Yes,” Evanna said. “But it would take a few hundred years and you would have to leave the vampires and become my assistant.” She smiled. “What do you think, Darren? Would it be worth it?”

“I’m not sure,” I muttered. I liked the idea of learning magic, but living with Evanna wasn’t appealing — with her quick temper, I doubted she’d make an understanding or forgiving teacher!

“Let me know if you change your mind,” she said. “It’s been a long time since I had an assistant, and none ever completed their studies — they all ran off after a few years, though I can’t imagine why.” Evanna brushed past us into the cave. Moments later she called us, and when we entered, we found another feast waiting.

“Did you use magic to get it ready so quickly?” I asked, sitting down to eat.

“No,” she replied. “I simply moved a little faster than normal. I can work at quite a speed when I wish.”

We ate a big dinner, then sat around a fire and discussed Mr. Tiny’s visit to Vampire Mountain. Evanna seemed to know about it already, but let us tell the story and said nothing until we had finished. “The three hunters,” she mused once we’d brought her up to date. “I have been waiting for you for many centuries.”

“You have?” Mr. Crepsley asked, startled.

“I lack Desmond’s clear insight into the future,” she said, “but I see some of what is to come — or what
might
come. I knew three hunters would emerge to face the Vampaneze Lord, but I didn’t know who they’d be.”

“Do you know if we’ll be successful?” Vancha asked, observing her keenly.

“I doubt if even Desmond knows that,” she said. “Two strong futures lie ahead, each as possible as the other. It’s rare for fate to boil down to two such evenly matched eventualities. Normally the paths of the future are many. When two exist like this, chance decides which the world will take.”

“What about the Lord of the Vampaneze?” Mr. Crepsley asked. “Have you any idea where he is?”

“Yes.” Evanna smiled.

Mr. Crepsley’s breath caught in his throat.

“But you won’t tell us, will you?” Vancha snorted in disgust.

“No,” she said, her smile spreading. Her teeth were long, jagged, and yellow like a wolf’s.